


On Inevitability and the Nature of Living

by postapocalyptic_cryptic



Category: Marvel
Genre: Angst, Clint Barton-centric, Depression, F/M, First Kiss, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, POV Natasha Romanov, The universal trans experience of sitting on the bathroom floor crying, Trans Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26114395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postapocalyptic_cryptic/pseuds/postapocalyptic_cryptic
Summary: Barton is dying with every breath she takes. Natasha is just beginning to learn that that is not the natural state of things. In the background, Coulson worries.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	On Inevitability and the Nature of Living

She finds Barton sitting on the floor of the bathroom, staring blankly at the tile floor. Her hair is a tangled mess and she’s obviously tried to take her vest off, but maybe gave up halfway through. It’s still mostly fastened and half-zipped, the heavy black cloth and elastic slipping off her shoulders to reveal angry red marks. She’s been wearing it fastened too small again. 

“Barton.” She barely reacts, head tilting marginally towards Natasha and eyes flicking up. “What are you doing?”

She shrugs, picking at a hole in her jeans. Natasha hates those jeans. Civvie clothes. Barton loves them, got them in the mens’ section in a discount store in Egypt a few weeks back. Natasha was new then, and had somehow let it slip that she’d never been clothes shopping before. Barton was eager to show her.

“ _ Barton.”  _ She punctuates this one with a fist on the doorframe and Barton flinches, a full body jerk paired with a disoriented blink. Now she has her attention. “ _ What. Are. You. Doing?”  _

She might be worried about her, Natasha muses. This is a harsh emotion, one she’s unfamiliar with, but it’s making it slightly hard to breath and she wants it gone. Barton needs to get it together before she compromises the mission.

Barton sits up a bit, wrapping her arms around her chest before awkwardly pulling them back to sit in her lap. “I don’t know, thinking?” She sniffs like she’s been crying. “Why?”

“If you’re injured or otherwise compromised, we need to alert Agent Coulson.”

“No!” Barton jumps to her feet and runs a hand through her hair like she’s trying to smooth it down. It doesn’t work. “Nope, no, I’m fine. I’m not hurt, I’m not compromised, and Phil doesn’t need to know. Everything is under control. I just need some coffee.”

“It’s ten thirty at night.”

“I have an amazing caffeine tolerance. You’d be impressed.” She’s about to ask why that would impress her when Barton pushes past her out into the room’s kitchenette. “I once drank a full pot of coffee in ten minutes before a meeting. I didn’t spill  _ any.  _ Phil says it’s a miracle I don’t have heart problems.”

Natasha follows her teammate out of the bathroom and sits on the bed, watching her prepare the coffee pot. Barton is taller than her by several inches and must have twenty pounds on her at least. She’s compact despite her height, all muscle and broad shoulders and hips. Natasha allows herself a moment to trace the lines of Barton’s waist into her hips and ass. She’s not what one would consider the standard of feminine beauty, all blunt, heavy lines and unyielding bone and muscle, but she’s a weapon. She’s strong, and Natasha can appreciate that in a woman. Barton, though, can’t, she’s realized. Natasha suspects it had something to do with the way she talks and walks and holds herself like a man. It causes her pain, Natasha can tell, so she calls her Barton. Barton seems to appreciate that. 

* * *

“Ladies, it’s time to head out,” their temporary handler barks, voice cutting sharp through the thick, comfortable silence she and Barton had been resting in. 

Barton opens her mouth like she wants to correct him. “We’re not-”

“Not what, Agent Barton? Do you need more time to get ready?” The handler cocks an eyebrow, obviously looking for any sign of distress or unpreparedness. He’s not unkind, and Natasha can appreciate that. He has, though, fallen into a trap Coulson and Fury had long since learned to sidestep.

“Nothing, sir,” Barton finishes lamely. “We’re ready. Let’s go, Tash.”

On the plane ride, Barton tugs at the front of her shirt thirty-seven times. She looks a bit nauseous. Natasha doesn’t know what to say other than “Barton” every chance she gets.

* * *

Barton is sitting on the bathroom floor again, this time in their shared dormitory space at SHIELD Headquarters. It’s months after the first incident, and Natasha is no longer the empty shell of a woman she was then. Barton, on the other hand, hasn’t gotten any better. In fact, she’s getting worse by the day. Agent Coulson is worried; she knows this because she’s seen him staring and heard the two of them having the same circular conversation at the front of the jet every time they think she can’t hear them. Barton is dying, and all Natasha can do is watch. 

She opens the door (the bathrooms in these dorms don’t lock, they’re not afforded, nor do they need, that kind of privacy) and stares down at Barton. She’s wearing the pants again, but this time, they’re accompanied by a hoodie that’s entirely too heavy for the mid-summer heat. The AC here isn’t  _ that  _ good. 

“Barton?” This time, her voice is soft, but when Barton turns to her, her eyes are still melancholic and lost. “Are you alright?”

Barton sighs, but doesn’t speak. Instead, she scoots over until she’s pressed against the cabinet, leaving a space for Natasha by the bathtub. Natasha sits, tucking her knees up in a mirror of Barton’s own position and pulling the door closed. 

Barton picks at a spot in the grout. “Do you ever wonder if you’re supposed to be someone else?”

_ I don’t wonder,  _ she thinks. “What do you mean?” she says. 

“I mean, like, do you ever think there’s someone else hidden inside you, that would be better at being you, but you did something wrong and now they’re stuck in there forever and you’re a failure?” Barton sighs, resting her chin on her knees and pulling her hood up. “I’m tired, Natasha.”

“I know.” She rests a hand on the tile between them. “All you have to do is say it, you know. Whatever it is that’s making you tired.”

“I can’t,” Barton says,  _ whines,  _ really. “It gets stuck. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t think you have to.”

“Shouldn’t I?” Barton takes her hand, tangling their fingers together and flipping them palm-up, Natasha’s hand on top.   
“I don’t think there are any rules.” The moment is quiet, decisive in its ambiguity and monumental in its ordinariness. “I think we just do the best we can with what we’re given.”

Barton glances over to her, holding her gaze this time, looking deep into her eyes and it’s like falling off a ledge, it’s like watching a birth, it’s like nothing at all except the cool tile beneath them and the little fleck of brown in Barton’s right iris. “I want to be a man. I already am a man, inside.” A shake of the head. “Fuck it. I’m transgender, Tasha.” A tear slips down Barton’s face. 

“What do you want me to call you?”

“Clint. He and him, too. The whole nine yards.” He pulls her hand to his face and kisses it gently. His lips are damp with tears. 

“Okay, Clint,” she whispers. “Have you told Coulson?”

“Not yet.” So she’s the first. “Thank you.”

Natasha doesn’t respond except to lean closer and touch their foreheads together. Clint breathes out and she breathes in. Finally, she says, “Do you want to do this?”

“More than anything.”

Their first kiss is on a bathroom floor in the middle of the night. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed! This has been in my drafts forever and I just wanted to get it out lmao. It was originally going to be longer but I threw in the towel.   
> Find me on tumblr @postapocalyptic-cryptic and never be afraid to hit me up there or down below!


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